The Inevitable
by Whisperwing
Summary: Ten years ago, Elizabeta found something that made her see the world in a new way. Now, with everything finally coming together, she might finally achieve the goal she's been waiting for. Except that she doesn't know everything, and older, much more dangerous forces are at work here. And she doesn't even know which side she's playing for.
1. Prologue

_1979_

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><p>The American restaurant was crowded, as per usual. With Christmas fast approaching, the place was stuffed with families reuniting, couples going out on dates, or shoppers grabbing a quick bite to eat before resuming their search for the perfect gift. And to make things even more hectic, the employee count was decreasing with every day, with many taking time off for holiday vacations.<p>

At a small table by the exit, a Chinese man sat alone, sipping at a glass of water. His long brown hair was tied in a low ponytail, draped over his shoulder, and his chocolate shaded eyes shown with experience, even though he looked to only be in his early twenties. Besides his glass, which he held up by his mouth in a loose grip, there was no other food or drink on his table. The staff was too busy with other customers to call him out on his lack of purchase, so he sat in peace.

The door to the restaurant swung open again, and for the first time since sitting down, the Chinese man looked up in interest. The newcomer was tall and broad, possessing a handsome face adorned with sparkling dark brown eyes and topped with similarly colored, wildly curly hair. He glanced around for a second until his gaze landed on the Chinese man, and his expression lit up with a dazzling grin.

"Yao! It's great to see you again!" he laughed, rushing to sit at the Chinese man's table. "Or, well, I guess this is technically our first time meeting, huh?"

"Ah, it all gets too complicated when you start thinking like that, Romulus," Yao chuckled, waving his glass a little as if to dismiss Romulus's words. "You know me and I know you. Even if we've never formally met in this state, we might as well call each other old friends."

"True." Romulus slouched back in his chair, casting his eyes around the busy venue. "Quite the place, isn't this? How're you liking America?"

"Not as much as China, but then, I guess I'm not supposed to like anything better than China."

"Good point," Romulus laughed. The sound was full and boisterous, attracting the eyes of surrounding people. One of the nearby girls giggled and flushed at the man's good looks, and he winked at her, watching her swoon.

Yao ignored Romulus's antics, continuing his evaluation of America. "I've tried some Chinese food here, in hopes that it would be a reminder of home, but it's all just subpar. And just overall, the American culture is difficult to adjust to."

"It is unique, isn't it?" Romulus grinned. "This is actually my first time here. Which is actually a bit surprising, since I've been pretty much everywhere."

"I can't help but wonder what you've been doing in all that time of 'being pretty much everywhere'. Pigging out on foreign foods? Sleeping around?"

"You wound me with your accusations," the man cried dramatically, clutching at his heart. "I've been doing legitimate work, even if it has been interspersed with pleasure!"

"I can't help but wonder: any children?"

"Only a couple hundred." His playful smile turned into a devilish smirk. "I wouldn't be surprised if every single person in this restaurant was a descendent of mine."

Yao huffed. "I'll have you know, my ancestors are pure Chinese."

"You never know." Romulus leaned forward, resting his arms on the tabletop. "Why all the questions? Can't you find out this stuff for yourself?"

"I have limits, you know," Yao sniffed haughtily.

"I guess so." Romulus's smile didn't fade, but suddenly his face seemed more serious. "I'm assuming you're aware of pretty much everything?"

"Probably even more aware than you are," Yao pointed out wryly, although his voice also took on a note of seriousness that hadn't been there before.

"I guess that makes sense. What can you tell me?"

Yao shot him a careful look. "Don't be too disappointed, but not much. I dare not mess with anything."

"Ugh, how can I _not _be disappointed by that kind of answer?" Romulus ran a frustrated hand through his hair, making parts of it stick up even more wildly. "Alright. What knowledge have you actually deemed me worthy of?"

"It'll be next time."

"Really?" Romulus's eyebrow rose high, hiding themselves behind his bangs. "As in _next_ time? But what about you?"

"I'm displeased by this too, but it looks as though I'm going to be a half-baked idiot in the future." The Chinese man finished the last of his water with a sigh, staring blankly at his empty glass. "Don't mess with that too much, by the way."

"I'm sure I'll understand what you mean when I get there." Romulus rubbed the slight stubble on his chin. "And here I was figuring that since you were around, it'd only be a couple of years or something."

"It's still very soon. I'll be dead within the next decade."

"Seriously? You're still very young."

"Unfortunately, yes. It's alright though. It just means that you have to start getting prepared."

"I guess so." A contemplative look crossed Romulus's face. "So, should I be offing myself sometime soon if I want to end up looking this handsome?"

"As soon as possible," Yao agreed, his voice light despite that they were discussing suicide. "But before you go off and do that, there's a few more things you should do."

"Like what?"

Yao began rummaging through a satchel, which he'd been holding in his lap. When he finally withdrew his hand, it was gripping a small envelope, which he held out to the other man. "I wrote all of the instructions down. I don't trust your old memory."

Playful offense colored Romulus's face as he snatched the letter away, stuffing it into his pants pocket. "Hey! My memory is as good as it ever was."

"Whatever you say. Just don't die until you do that stuff." Yao rose from the table, stretching his limbs. "This is the last time I'll be seeing you like this."

"Too bad. You make pretty good company."

"Of course I do. And when the time comes, please try not to meddle too much – wait until the time comes for your entrance, and you'll know when that is."

"Working behind the scenes sounds incredibly boring, but I guess I don't have much choice. I guess I'm just too old to take the spotlight."

"Perhaps." Giving Romulus a nod of farewell, Yao began toward the exit. Before leaving, however, he paused, a conflicted look on his face. "Romulus?"

Romulus glanced up from smoldering his eyes at a woman, who coincidently was already on a date with a rather put out looking man. "Yeah?"

"Dying…" The Chinese man grimaced. "What's it like?"

Romulus stared at him for a second, then chuckled. "I guess you _don't_ know everything, do you?"

Yao shifted uncomfortably.

"Hm…" Romulus's mocking smile melting into one of gentle sympathy. "Death is… easy. I wouldn't worry about it."

The answer seemed far from satisfactory, but Yao's expression was grateful as he turned and left the restaurant.

* * *

><p><em>2010<em>

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><p>The winter was just beginning, with children bundled up in thick clothing to the point of stiffness. They took their time sauntering home from school, pausing to roll in the new snow and toss balls of the powdery substance at their friends. The crisp air was filled with the sound of their high pitched laughter and the crunch of snow beneath their feet.<p>

Fourteen year old Elizabeta Héderváry was one of these children, although on this day, she neither laughed nor strolled leisurely while making her way homewards. Her face was set in almost adult determination as she trudged through the cold, her boots thudding heavily against the ground with every step.

She stomped up the steps to her house's front door, removing a key from the pocket of her heavy coat and unlocking the front door. When she stepped inside, she let it close behind her with a slam that would have sent her mother raging at her, had the woman not been at work.

Once she had shucked her coat and boots, leaving them in a damp puddle on the floor that she knew she'd be reprimanded for later, she ran upstairs to her room, her simple, light brown backpack clutched in her arms. Reaching her bed, she let the contents of the pack spill out onto the sheets, and grabbed the item that had been on her mind since that morning: a small, paperback book, with a colorful cover and the title displayed in large letters: _Hetalia Axis Powers._ The words were in English – luckily, Elizabeta's family had decided it would be beneficial to teach her the foreign language from a young age, and she could read it well.

She hesitated before opening the book. She knew that what the man had told her was fact. She had never been wrong about something like this. Even so, she wasn't sure if she was ready for something like this. But she shook her head, clearing doubt from her mind, and flipped open the front cover, revealing the tales of country personifications, detailed in well drawn black and white pictures and small speech bubbles.

It took her only a matter of weeks to track down and finish the rest of the released, English translated books. When there were no more, she continued only, traipsing through manga websites for every chapter she could find. From the first volume, she read with fervor near obsession, falling for each character more and more with every page.

Her love of Hetalia lasted for months, prompting her entrance into the fandom. She read fanfiction, squealed over fanart, and selected her favorite couples. She met friends at school with similar interests, and bonded with strangers online through her obsession.

Looking back, she realized that her adoration had clouded her thoughts a little. As she underwent this phase, she thought little more of the books than beloved stories that she wished were real. She had forgotten what she was supposed to do, her original objective – how did this story, of countries and humor and war and stereotypes, pertain to _her?_

It was over a year after she had opened the first volume. She woke up from a dream, breathing as though she had just run a marathon, her eyes wide. Something in her mind just _clicked,_ and she almost leaped out of bed, darting to the large mirror over her dresser. Her hands frantically smoothed her hair, patting down the frizziness that always came with sleep, until it looked somewhat presentable. Then she stared at herself, taking in every aspect of her appearance.

When she finally collapsed back into bed, her mind racing, she began to theorize. She allowed even the most farfetched guesses to flit through her thought process, considering each idea carefully.

An hour later, a thought slid into place. Elizabeta closed her eyes, took in a deep breath through her nose, then allowed a smirk to cross her face as she made an assumption.

And Elizabeta's assumptions were never wrong.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Hello everyone! My name's Whisperwing... as you can probably already tell. This'd be the first story I've ever uploaded to FanFiction, although I have been hanging around reading things here and writing fanfictions for years now. So I have some amount of experience, thought I've never released anything to the public... Suffice to say I'm a little nervous. But with any luck, this will all turn out to be a great experience. **

**Anyways, this is just the prologue of my story, "The Inevitable". It's actually less than half the size of the rest of my chapters, which are all over 4000 words. I have not completed this story yet; I'm probably about a third of the way through, with 6 chapters so far. Unfortunately, I'm not one of those people who can write, like, 5000 words a day and I am prone to abandoning stories. Actually, confession: I've never completed a serious story before. But I have a concrete plan for this one and am really hoping to finish, because the last thing I want to do is leave people hanging. **

**My plan to update at a semi-steady pace is that I'll post the first chapter sometime later this week, and then post chapters every other week. I was hoping to update weekly, but I don't think I'm that good at this point. Two weeks per chapter should give me enough time to get ahead and have more chapters for you all by the time I've posted up to chapter 6. **

**Anyways... Thanks for checking this out! I hope you found it interesting. If you have any comments or critiques or whatever, I don't mind, please share!**

**~Whisperwing~ **


	2. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: Hetalia belongs to Hidekaz Himayura  
><strong>

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><p><em>Ten years later<em>

* * *

><p>Francis wished he'd taken an easier assignment. Not that there had actually been any other options. He would have just declined the idea of going on a mission at all, but Elizabeta had threatened to take away his rights to go outside, along with confiscating his wine. Although even with that horrifying prospect, was this even worth it?<p>

_Of course it is,_ Francis thought to himself, his mental voice resolute._ There might be a lot of gorgeous boys and one gorgeous girl in the Collection, but none of them were very open to my charms. Without wine, I would go mad with boredom cooped up with them. _

Despite that, he was now cold, wet, dirty, and sitting in a tree. This was not desirable in the slightest. His shoulder length blond hair hung into his face in thick, dripping strands, his blue eyes were dull with exhaustion, his pale skin was chalky and clammy. His usually stubbly chin was even more unshaven than normal, a testament to his current state of dishevelment. He shivered as another gust of wind doused him with a wave of rain.

_Ok. So maybe it wasn't worth it. At all._

But there was no way he was going to return to the Collection, sulking and whining, and receive nothing for his efforts except looks of contempt and a confiscation of his rights. No, Francis would see this through the end.

He sighed miserably, curling in on himself a little more. Why did the guy have to live in a _forest?_ And on top of that, he didn't even have the civility to show himself. Meaning that the blond Frenchman had to sit in a _tree_ of all things, hoping he would appear.

He spent another good thirty minutes there, watching and waiting, the only thing keeping him from being completely soaked to the bone being an unattractive poncho draped loosely over his figure. It was at that point that he decided that the chances of his man walking by that particular tree on that particular day were slim enough that continuing his watch wasn't worth it at all. With cramped, wearied limbs, he clambered down from the tree, muttering French curses under his breath, and made his way out of the forest. The only plan in his mind was of going back into town, having a strong drink, and figuring out how to locate his objective once his hangover had worn off the next day.

* * *

><p>Two days later found him sitting outside of the small town's convenience store. The shop was also equipped with a small restaurant, of which Francis was in the outdoor seating area. In his hand he held a glass of wine, which he had judged not as good as French wine, but good enough to tide him over.<p>

It had been that very same convenience store where he had gotten his information when he'd first arrived, leading him to his long, rainy vigil in the woods.

_"'A blond man with dark green eyes and a grumpy expression name Vash?'" The clerk looked thoughtful. "I don't know about the name, but I've seen someone who fits your description. He always looks aggressive and his hair is fairly long, like you said. And he is a little suspicious – he comes here every so often, but he doesn't live in town. I think he comes from the woods, but I'm not sure." He looked curious. "Why are you asking?"_

_"I'm looking for a friend," Francis replied smoothly with his default answer, the Swiss language rolling off his tongue a little awkwardly, but understandably. "I heard that he lives around here, but I wasn't sure where… Anyways, thank you for your help."_

_"No problem!"_

Since his stakeout in the forest, Francis had remained in town, hoping that the man he was looking for would just happen to feel the need to come by the convenience store. It was a long shot, but there was no way he was going back out into the forest again.

And somehow… it worked.

Francis cast his head back, basking in Switzerland's fickle sun, shaking his hair out of his face. When he looked back down, his fingers closing around his wine glass, something caught in his peripheral vision, and he turned to see a figure entering the store.

A very familiar figure.

He rose gracefully to his feet, his chair scraping against the cement as it was pushed backwards. His hand flew to his pocket, snatching a piece of paper out as he moved to the door the other man had disappeared into. He flung it open, and there he was – green eyes browsing purposefully over the shelves, seeming to glare at everything that wasn't what he wanted.

Francis held up the paper, comparing the man in front of him the picture printed on the slip. It looked like a perfect match, even though the picture was only a simplified cartoon version of him.

A smile spread across Francis's perfect lips, his thumb brushing thoughtfully against the light stubble on his chin. _Finally. Time to turn on the charm_.

Stuffing the paper back into his pants, he sidled up the man at the shelves, casually invading his personal space. The man immediately stiffened, spinning around. "_What-"_

And then he stopped, his eyes catching on Francis's, and Francis inwardly smirked. He had him.

"W-what are you doing?" he finished, his cheeks flushing bright red. "Get away…"

Francis's voice was low and seductive. "But I don't _want_ to…" he breathed, moving closer so that he almost touched the other man. His blush intensified. "I haven't seen you around here, _cher_. You caught my eye..."

He knew that this was hardly quality seduction, but he was tired. He'd been stuck in this tiny town for days with nothing to keep him company with nothing but Swiss wine to keep him company. He was ready to get out, and if it meant that his flirting wasn't up to his usual standards, then that was fine.

The Swiss man looked like looked like smoke was about to blow out his ears. "I- I don't like men!" he yelped, pressing himself back against the shelves, trying to escape the awkward situation.

Francis chuckled. "I never said you did. Although, your blushing begs to differ…" He ran a finger over the Swiss man's reddened cheek, causing him to swallow hard.

"I can't… I mean, I don't…"

"How about we go outside? You can finish up your purchases later. We can find somewhere more _private_, and you can tell me all about yourself…" Francis proposed, licking his lips as he watched the momentary indecision in the other man's eyes. He was surprised the man hadn't already thrown himself on him – it showed an impressing strong will. He could respect that.

"Alright," the Swiss agreed, straightening his back as if trying to assert himself. _Silly. You're wrapped around my finger,_ Francis thought amusedly. "But it has to be quick. I'm on a tight schedule."

"A busy man. I like that…" Francis let his hand travel down to entangle in the other man's fingers. "Shall we?" he asked, his voice dripping sex and suggestion.

The Swiss man nodded curtly, and only a minute later, they were behind the store, the man shoved up against the wall and Francis letting his hands explore the other's body as his tongue mapped his mouth. He couldn't help but smile against the man's lips: he was well muscled, and quite pleasant to grope.

Francis pulled back momentarily. "Before we really start," he began with a mischievous grin, his eyes half lidded and dark with lust, "may I know your name, handsome?"

"Vash," the man gasped, moaning as Francis's fingers slipped under his shirt. "Vash Zwingli."

The Frenchman's smile broadened. "What a lovely name," he purred, leaning in again. "Vash" closed his eyes in anticipation.

But instead of his mouth being met with soft, lustful lips, Vash found a cloth being jammed between his teeth and over his nose. He gasped around it, his eyes flying open and his mind kicking into overdrive, clearing of all sexual thought with ease that required years of training, his hand reaching for the gun that he always kept hidden in his baggy pants. But the moment his eyes focused on Francis's, the struggling stopped.

"Sleep," the Frenchman purred, and there was nothing Vash could do but submit and allow darkness to take him as he breathed in the scent of chloroform.

* * *

><p>"You didn't do anything <em>too <em>bad, did you?" Elizabeta asked, noting the rumpled state of the man's clothes.

"Of course not," Francis responded, sounding mildly offended as he took a dainty sip of his _real,_ _French_ wine. "What do you take me for?" He ignored the dry stare Elizabeta flung his direction. "Besides, the quicker that job was over with, the quicker I could get back to _you_, _mon_ _cherie._"

She made a little sound in the back of her throat, her fingers twitching, and the Frenchman wisely stopped talking.

An Austrian man with deep purple eyes and dark brown hair, a single large curl sticking up above the rest of the orderly strands, cleared his throat. He sat in a chair at the edge of the room, his posture as straight and proper as his clothing (which was, by the way, very proper). "He's waking up," he said in smooth, bossy voice. "I suggest you be ready."

Elizabeta glanced down at Vash, stretched out of the large white bed. Indeed, his eyelids were starting to twitched, his fingers quivering. "It's about time."

"He's not going to be happy," the Austrian warned.

"Don't I know it," the Hungarian girl sighed, brushing a strand of long, wavy brown hair out of her face.

"If you like, I can simply seduce him again?" the Frenchman offered, but Elizabeta shook her head.

"We're trying to give him as warm a welcome as possible. I'd say that being molested by you doesn't exactly fall into that category… now shush."

Vash's eyes flickered open, taking in the plain white room around him. He didn't move until his eyes landed on Elizabeta, who was staring at him with a hopefully friendly, soothing looking smile on her face, and the ensuing motion was explosive.

He rolled out of the bed, hands flying to where he kept his gun, only to find it not there. He cursed, and launched himself at Elizabeta, attempting a harsh punch to her abdomen. Despite the long, puffy skirt she wore, she dodged easily out of the Swiss man's way, overpowering him easily in his still disoriented state. Feeling his strength as she held him in an armlock, she decided that she really wouldn't want to fight him if he were in a better state.

"_Bitch!_" he yelled, struggling against her hold. "Let me go, you-" He dissolved into a variety of Swiss curses, which only intensified when he caught sight of Francis, who gave him a little wave.

"Vash Zwingli," the Austrian man called out, his businesslike voice cutting through the tirade of Swiss. He had risen to his feet, and now stepped in front of the struggling man, face firm. "Please calm yourself and allow me to explain."

"Like _hell!_" Vash spat, trying to kick Elizabeta, but she held him firm.

The Austrian was unfazed. "If you don't cooperate, we will be forced to sedate you, and next time you come to, you will be strapped to the bed. Either that, or we'll have _him_ calm you down," he gestured to Francis, who looked a little too excited, "and I'm sure that's not a desirable option either. I assure you, we mean you no harm."

Vash resisted a few moments more, but realizing it was futile, he relaxed his movements, glaring at the Austrian. "_Speak._"

"Thank you," Roderich said once he was certain Vash had stopped fighting. "My name is Roderich Edelstien. You met Francis Bonnefoy earlier, and the girl who is holding you is Elizabeta Héderváry. We are all part of what we currently called the Collection, a gathering of a group of people with very special abilities."

"What the hell does that have to do with me?" Vash snarled.

Roderich looked him over. "I think I would be correct in assuming that you have a special ability yourself."

"I have no clue what you're talking about."

"You hide it – no doubt that was why you were out in the woods. But Elizabeta, is this the right person?"

"It is. He does have an ability."

"Exactly." He nodded at the girl. "And if Elizabeta says it's true, then it must be true indeed."

"What, so whatever she says is the truth?" Vash scoffed. "Yeah right."

"But she isn't wrong, is she?" Roderich looked him over, taking in every aspect of his figure. "I would venture to guess that someone found out about your ability and wanted to exploit it. That's why you were hiding out in the woods."

Vash glared, but no longer bothered to deny it.

"You can stop looking so agressive. I meant it when I said we mean you no harm. We will not be experimenting on you or exploiting you. We only offer you a safe place to take refuge, and hope that you will help us in our cause."

"That sounds close enough to exploitation to me," the Swiss man muttered.

"See it as you like. Whether or not you help us will be completely voluntary. However, more importantly than your support of our cause, we cannot have you falling into anyone else's hands." Roderich's gaze hardened. "Because they will not give you any choice in the matter of helping them."

Vash let out a sound of acknowledgement, carefully watching the Austrian.

"That is why I'm afraid that although your cooperation with our cause is optional, we cannot allow you to leave here," Roderich finished. "At least not until we can trust you not to run away. Then we will grant you leaving rights…"

"Like _hell_ you won't let me go out!" Vash roared, pushing against Elizabeta's hold once again. "No way am I going to stay here!"

"The living conditions are wonderful, and no harm will come to you," Roderich informed him. "You do not have to interact with the other people here, and you will receive your own private room. Why not take this opportunity? Unless…" An idea sparked in his eyes as he watched the Swiss man's thrashing. "Did you perhaps leave someone behind in those woods? A sister, maybe?"

Vash's green eyes flashed, and he attempted to knock his head back into Elizabeta's. She pulled back quickly, but maintained her grip. "No-"

"Yes, he did," Elizabeta confirmed, her voice slightly strained from restraining Vash. "His adopted sister, born in Liechtenstein."

"That's not-"

"Wonderful." Roderich clapped his hands. "Then let's dispatch someone immediately."

"_Don't you dare touch her!_" Vash shouted, drawing Roderich's attention again.

"I promise," he said firmly, "no harm will come to your sister. Nor anything inappropriate." He rolled his eyes at Francis, who suddenly looked disappointed. "We will not be sending Francis after her – no, we'll get someone a little more safe. It's too bad that Kiku is out…"

"He'll be back soon," Elizabeta offered.

"We'll see. Either way, we will bring her here, and you can both live safely and happily."

The offer must have been somewhat tempting, because Vash stopped struggling, although his expression was still aggressive. "She'll be gone by now," he told them. "I told her that if I didn't come back, she needed to move out. She'll be far away by now."

"True, you were out for a day," Roderich pondered, frowning at this new piece of information. "May I know her name?"

Vash hesitated, then gave in. "Lili," he said, and his tone seemed to soften a little.

"Lili," the Austrian repeated. "Not one of Himaruya's suggested names, but a very commonly used fan-term." He shrugged. "I suppose that'll work fine."

"Fan-term?" Vash looked confused. "What…"

"I'll let Elizabeta explain it to you." Roderich went to the room's single door, opening it. "Francis, come with me. We'll find someone to go search for Lili."

"_Oui_," Francis agreed, rising from his seat, wine in hand. He winked suggestively at Vash as he left, causing the Swiss man to shudder. The door closed behind him with a soft click.

"If I let you go, will you attack me?" Elizabeta asked carefully, watching Vash with apprehension.

"…No," he answered, after a second of hesitation. She released his arms, and he quickly stepped away, turning to face her.

"So, Vash," the Hungarian said, sitting on the white bed and casually patting the space besides her. He did not take a offered seat, instead nodding stiffly for her to go on. "I'm sure you have a lot of questions, like the whole name thing, how we knew where to find you, how Roderich guessed you had a sister."

"Yes."

"Well, there's this Japanese comic, called Hetalia…"

* * *

><p>The thug held the knife out in front of him, proud that his arms were only trembling slightly. A small shiver was better that the state of the people who had previously been his allies, all of whom had already pulled a full retreat; some wailing in fear, all running at top speeds. He was far braver than any of them.<p>

Several feet away from him, a figure stood, brushing off his jacket and casually flicking a strand of blond hair out of his face. At his feet, another one of the thug's comrades lay curled in on himself, unmoving. One of the weak ones.

"Well," the other person said, and the sudden sound in the eerily quiet dusk was enough to make the thug flinch. He regained his composure almost immediately, but it was enough to make the man in front him chuckle a bit as he continued. "Looks like he'll have a few cracked ribs, but it's nothing too serious. A lot better than what I did to that guy a little while ago…" He scratched the back of his head sheepishly. "Well. I _seem_ to be improving, anyways…"

"Shut up!" The thug's voice came out a little weaker than he intended, but he pushed on. "Scram if you don't want to get hurt, bastard. I don't have any problem with killing."

The relatively friendly expression on the man's face dropped, and he sent a deadpan look at the thug. "Well, _I_ have a problem with people who don't have a problem with killing."

"I'm warning you, kid," the thug warned, gripping his knife and trying to make his voice deeper, more menacing. "Stop trying to be a hero and run while you still can."

The man seemed to hesitate a moment, and the thug didn't wait to see if he'd actually flee. He launched himself at him, weapon outstretched. He was one of the fastest in his group – before the man could even realize he was coming, the attacker was at his side, dodging under his arm to plunging his knife into his side, burying the blade so deep in his skin that its silver glint could no longer be seen…

Except before the knife could make its fatal contact, an elbow connected hard with the thug's head, and he stumbled to the side, stars flashing in front of his eyes. He didn't wait to recover – he hurled himself straight back at his opponent, knife slashing.

He was on the ground in seconds. His weapon, lying on the ground a few inches from his outstretched hand, was kicked away by a combat boot. It spun out of his range of vision, which was shrinking quickly.

"Well, that's definitely gonna be a concussion," a voice above him noted. It was a little fuzzy, and sounded strangely apologetic. He tried to focus on it. "Oh well. That's what you get, I suppose." The combat boot stepped away, and the thug felt his consciousness slipping. Before blackness could completely take his mind, though, he heard one last statement from the voice.

"And by the way: I don't have to _try_ to be a hero, because I _am_ the…"

* * *

><p>"Crap, crap, crap."<p>

Right turn, left turn, past a yellow car, right turn, right turn, through a store, right, left, left, right, left, right… Wasn't that the same yellow car he had just passed?

"Dammit!" the boy shrieked. Why was this place so confusing? Why did all the buildings look the same? Damn, why couldn't he just…

"_Detene_!" Pounding footsteps could be heard behind him. He flinched, running in another direction.

"I don't fucking speak Spanish, dammit!"

Why did he have to take the bread? Sure, it had looked so tantalizing, just sitting there, and it wasn't like anyone was about to eat it, and he was just so hungry… But still. He wished he could punch himself in the face, although he decided that that would have to come later.

Air scraped up and down his throat, his lungs feeling like they were bursting. His legs burned and his feet throbbed every time they slapped the ground. He was tired, he was hungry, he was thirsty. _Shit, I can't keep this up_, he realized with despair.

He rounded another corner, and was faced with… a wall. A solid, brick wall. No way over, no way under, no way around.

A dead end.

They were close. He could hear their shouting. He couldn't backtrack now. He was trapped here, with nothing but the loaf of bread he had tucked under his jacket to defend himself with.

Pathetic.

His stomach churned a little, a telltale sign that his ability was acting up again. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. As much as he didn't want to get caught, the last thing he wanted was for _that_ to happen.

Looking around, he noticed a few doors in the small, dead end alley. He rushed to one, pulling on it, but it didn't budge. Then next one: still nothing.

They were practically rounding the corner.

He was about to grab the handle of the third door, his hands shaking with adrenaline, when it swung inward of its own accord, and something grabbed his shirt. He let out a startled cry, which was muffled by a swift hand clamping across his mouth as he was dragged inside the building. The door closed behind him with a soft _click_.

He immediately began to thrash, catching a glimpse of his captor; but before he could make out any real details, he was being shoved behind something, and a voice was hissing, "Stay there and don't move."

"What the _hell-_" he began, but was cut off by a harsh shushing noise. Hearing footsteps outside the building, he elected to keep my mouth shut.

There was yelling, and pounding, and various sounds of confusion and frustration. He held his breath, trying to slow his rapid heartbeat and still his trembling limbs, but now that he wasn't moving, he registered just how riled up he was. And how all of his insides seemed to be swirling inside of him. _Not a good sign, dammit… calm down, calm down_…

But realizing what was about to happen made him even more frantic, and by the time a fierce knocking sounded at the door of the building, he was already fading out of consciousness.

"Have you seen a man with brown hair and pale skin running down this way?"

"No, I'm afraid I haven't seen anyone over here all day. Why?"

"Well, you see, we're just trying to catch a thief… He's been around for a while, snatching all sorts of things, and this is the closest we've ever come to catching him. But if he's not here, I suppose we should look elsewhere… Sorry for the bother."

"Oh, it's no trouble at all. I wish you luck!"

* * *

><p>The blonde looked up from where he'd been hunched over his homework, watching his brother slouch into the room. "Hello, <em>bruder<em>. How was work?"

The albino waved a hand, slumping onto a nearby couch and covering his eyes with his arm. "Boring. Annoying. Jeffery was being bitchy and went home early, so I had to do it all on my own. And then one of _them_ was feeling rather chatty today…" He groaned. "I never want to hear that much about someone's sex life ever again."

The younger man nodded before returning to his papers. There was no sympathy in the gesture – it wouldn't have meant anything to either of them. Just understanding.

They spent a couple of minutes without speaking, the silence only filled with their soft breathing and the light scratching of the blond man's pencil.

"Do you think it'll all end? Some day?" the albino sighed, uncovering his face to cast his red eyes up to the ceiling. The other man shot him a puzzled look.

"End? We'll all die someday. And…" He nodded slightly, as if alluding to something unspoken. "I doubt any of this is going to go away until then."

"I know _that_," the man on the couch huffed in frustration. "I mean… we're just sitting around here dealing with all this shit. Doesn't it _mean_ something? Shouldn't we have a really important role in the world or something?"

The blond man watched the other carefully, then shrugged. "I don't really feel like getting into a philosophical discussion with you right now."

"This isn't a philosophical discussion!" he insisted, but he had already lost the blonde's attention. He grumbled under his breath, rolling to face the couch cushions and closing his eyes.

Surely something was about to happen. Something big. Something real. Something… Awesome.

* * *

><p><strong>Well, that's the first chapter.<strong>

**I'm very concerned that I'm making characters OOC. There are some characters that I'm kinda comfortable with their personality, while others... not so much. With any luck, as I write with all these guys more I'll get better, but or now...? Forgive me if I'm making your favorite character act a little off. If you have any suggestions or can point out a point where they're acting OOC, feel free to tell me. **

**Also! For anyone who bothered to keep track... yes, this story is actually set in the year 2020. That is, in the future. The fact that it's in the future doesn't really matter... so I'm just writing it as though four years from now, the world will be no different than it is right now. I didn't plan to make it in the future, but when I looked at, like, when Hetalia was released and everything... well, it just sorta had to be.**

**Finally, one more point - I am taking Spanish classes. However, I am far from being fluent, and I did not know what the verb for "to stop" was. According to Google Translate, it's "detener", and using my limited Spanish skills when it came to commands, I made it "detene". So, for anyone who actually speaks Spanish - is that something a police officer might shout at, say, a thief? Am I conjugating it right? Is it reflexive, so I'd say like "detenete" or something?  
><strong>

**Anyways, next chapter should come in two weeks or so. I hope you enjoyed!**

**~Whisperwing~**


	3. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: Hetalia belongs to Hidekaz Himayura**

* * *

><p>"Ah, spring in Norway is really pretty!" Tino gushed, plucking a vibrant red flower from the ground with a gloved hand and nestling it in his light blond hair. He let out a little laugh, looking back at his companion, who watched him soundlessly, his face expressionless. "Ah! Do you want one too, Berwald?" Tino picked another flower, and bounced over to "Berwald", sliding it behind his ear. "There!"<p>

Berwald's unsmiling face didn't change, but his green-blue eyes did soften a bit, and he didn't protest.

Moving ahead down the path, Tino rubbed his arms, which were padded by a thick layer of coat. "It is rather cold though. Not that I'm not used to that."

Berwald nodded, following Tino at a steady pace. His blond hair, a little more golden and shorter cropped than Tino's, rustled a little in the wind, and he absently pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose, his eyes fixed on his companion.

Tino squinted into the distance. "It was kinda stupid of us to walk here. Not that I mind a long walk with you," he added hurriedly, shooting an apologetic glance back at Sweden. "And it is very beautiful. But we're here to work, not wander around admiring the scenery…" He chuckled sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head. Berwald shrugged indifferently.

They had already been walking for a couple of hours, and although they were both very tough, Tino had to admit that his feet were getting sore. Unfortunately, there was no place to rest, unless he wanted to sit on the gravelly road or in the grass, still damp from dew and melting snow. He didn't complain about his feet, though – he knew that if he did, Berwald would no doubt offer to carry him, in that silent way of his that involved sweeping him off his feet with strong arms and not taking no for an answer. It had happened before, and Tino would rather not burden his Swedish friend.

"I do think we're almost there, though," he continued, peering ahead once more, hoping to see buildings that would signal the end of their journey. "What do you say to getting something to eat when we get there before finding… erm, Lukas, right?"

Berwald nodded, but Tino couldn't tell if it was in response to the food or to the name. He elected to take it as both.

"Sounds good then!" the Finnish man said, not minding that he was virtually talking to himself. He was long used to his friend's silence. "I hope they have some of that salmon that we tried at the last place. That was really good…" He let out an appreciative noise at the prospect, then looked to Berwald. "What did they call it again?"

"Røkt Laks," Berwald rumbled.

"Yeah, that's right! That's Norwegian for smoked salmon, I think." He looked thoughtful. "Oh, but should we maybe try something else? After all, it's not often we get to experience Norwegian cuisine… Hm…" Confliction passed across the Finnish man's face, but it disappeared quickly. "Well, I guess we'll decide when we get there!" Something caught his eye, and he straightened, peering over the rolling hills ahead of him. "Hey, I think I see the town over there!" He laughed in relief. "That's great, my feet were really hurting. I can't wait to find somewhere to sit down… Wah!"

Tino felt something catching behind his knees, swiping his feet from under him, while something else supported his head, affectively sweeping him into the air. He let out a startled squeak, then sent a reprimanding look at the face of the man who now carried him bridal style. "Berwald… we're almost there, you don't have to carry me…"

The stoic man's lips twitched just a little, but he didn't respond, and Tino didn't fight it. There was really no sense in denying Berwald his way.

* * *

><p>"Leave," Lukas said simply, the door nearly crushing Matthias's nose as it was slammed shut in his face.<p>

On the other side of the now closed door, Matthias jerked backed, letting out a yelp. After fingering his nose to make sure it wasn't broken, he banged his fist on the door, yelling, "C'mon, Lukas! Let me in!"

The door opened a crack, and a dark blue eye appeared, overshadowed by long, fluffy blond bangs and surrounded by a pale, unamused face. "Why would I let you in?"

"You know you love me," Matthias taunted with a grin. "C'mon. Let your bestie in."

The door clicked shut.

"Lukas!" he whined, pounding on the barrier between them again. "Stop being so stubborn! Why are you always like this?" There was no answer from the other side. Matthias pouted at the closed door. "I'm not going to go away until you let me in! I'll keep knocking all night if I have too."

There was a pause while Matthias waited for a response, then the door quietly swung inward, Lukas apparently realizing that his self proclaimed best friend wasn't kidding when he said he wouldn't leave him alone.

Matthias laughed in triumph, marching into the house. "I knew you'd see reason!"

Lukas rolled his eyes at his Danish friend. Matthias was loud, obnoxious, and dense – a mix of things that Lukas, had he a choice, would rather not associate with. He was taller than Lukas, bulky with pure muscle, and possessed dirty blond hair, most of which curled upward wildly. Thick, dark, but elegant eyebrows sat over sparkling cerulean eyes, and a boyish grin was perpetually displayed on his lips.

Lukas, on the other hand, was shorter in stature, thin and bony (although not any less strong, he insisted), with light blond bangs that hung into his face, one side pulled back by an every present cross clip. The Norwegian boy's stoic, unimpressed expression seemed to be permanent, blue eyes glaring at anyone and everyone – especially Matthias. Not that Matthias cared.

"Ah, it's great to be back here!" Matthias sighed, throwing himself onto Lukas's couch, the way he had many times before.

"You were here last weekend. And the weekend before."

"It's always great to be back here." The Danish boy toyed with a loose thread on the couch cushion. "I love your house."

"You love to eat my food and sleep in my bed and expect me to clean up after you because you're too lazy to do it yourself."

"It's a wonderful life," Matthias said happily. "And anyways, your house is so quiet. I've got too many siblings running around…" He made a face. "I wish my parents would let me move out."

"Just buy an apartment and do it. It's not like they legally have any right to hold you with them." Lukas sat in an armchair opposite the couch, looking bored. They'd had this conversation enough that he knew what his not-really-friend-more-like-annoying-stalker-who-won't-leave-him-alone would say.

"Lukas. You've met my parents." Matthias shuddered at the thought. "They're never going to let me go. And anyways, I don't even have enough money to buy a cheap hotel room for a week. I can't get an apartment."

"Get a job."

"I have a job!"

"A real job."

"How about…" Matthias's eye lit up, as if he had had a great new revelation. "What if I move in with you?"

But it wasn't really a "great new revelation". It might have been twenty times ago, but at this point, it was just ridiculous. "No."

"What? C'mon, help a friend out!"

"You're not my friend. I have no obligation to help you."

"You live in this big house all by yourself! You need someone to keep you company."

"I'm quite fine, and even if I wanted to live with someone, it wouldn't be with you."

Matthias frowned, quickly launching another argument, which Lukas shot down with blunt insults. It was a well practiced cycle, one that despite the apparent hostilities neither seemed inclined to change.

The verbal quarrel, which had long since shifted topics, only came to a pause when a sharp knock sounded at Lukas's door. Both of the men froze, more than a little surprised – Lukas had few friends close enough to visit him at his home, and an easily seen "No Soliciting" sign deterred salesmen. His house was also situated on the outskirts of town, further decreasing visitors. Outside of Matthias, house calls were incredibly rare. However, since Matthias was already inside the house, this had to be one of those rare occasions that someone else had come all the way to his house to call on him.

When Lukas didn't move to answer, the knock came again, followed by a hushed, agitated voice that they could just barely hear coming from outside the door. It was at that point that Lukas silently rose, moving the open the door.

On the doorstep stood two men, the shorter one frozen with his hand raised, presumably to knock again. His face showed surprise, then relief as he realized the door had been answered. The other man's stoic expression didn't twitch.

"Oh, hi!" The shorter one said, retracting his hand and bouncing a little. "I was afraid you weren't in."

"Well, I was," Lukas said simply.

There was an awkward pause. Lukas and the tall newcomer just stared wordlessly, while the short man sway nervously on his feet. His eyes suddenly widened. "Oh! I'm sorry, we haven't introduced ourselves." He cleared his throat. "My name's Tino, and this," he gestured to the taller man, "is Berwald. And am I correct in assuming that you're Lukas Bondevik?"

"Yes," the Norwegian answered guardedly. He had no idea where from or why the men had come – he felt justified in being suspicious. "What of it?"

"Great!" Tino rubbed his hands nervously. "Well, then… we have a proposition for you then, I guess."

"Hey, Lukas, who are these guys?" Matthias nudged up besides Lukas, looking over the two Nordic men standing outside. "Don't tell me you actually have other friends than me."

Lukas punched him in the arm, not bothering to hold back any strength from the blow. Matthias flinched back with a low whine. "You're not my friend, and I don't need your input," the Norwegian stated, then turned his head back to Tino and Berwald. "A proposition?"

"Well, yes." Tino glanced awkwardly at Berwald. The shorter man's anxiety was enough to set Lukas on edge. "Something like that. You see…" He drew in a breath. "We're from this organization which protects people with abnormal, superhuman abilities, and since we believe you might qualify, we must ask you to come with us."

Any interest in Lukas's expression immediately disappeared, and he tensed ever so slightly. Tino continued quickly, although his was beginning to sound more like desperate excuses. "I promise we wouldn't be experimenting on you, or forcing you to do anything against your will! You might have had prior experience with someone who wants to exploit you, but I swear we're nothing like them! We only want to bring you to a safe place where no one with malicious intentions can get to you and make you do anything-"

Surprisingly, it wasn't Lukas who ended up interrupting Tino's speech. "No way," Matthias growled, pushing further up besides Lukas, as though almost trying to get in front of him. "You aren't taking him anywhere."

"I can take care of myself, Matthias…" Lukas warned the Danish man, also looking tense.

Tino looked panicked. "But we-"

"No," Lukas and Matthias chorused at the same time, their eyes narrowed to distrustful glares.

"Leave," Lukas ordered firmly, stepping back to grab for the doorknob with the intent of slamming the door in their faces. His other hand grabbed Matthias, pulling him back a bit (because he was too moronic to actually get out of the way of the slamming door).

Tino hesitated only a moment longer, a pleading look on his face, but as the door began to close, his expression hardened, and he yelped, "Berwald!"

Suddenly, it was as though everything around Lukas disappeared. His sight went blank, his ears no longer picking up a single sound, and the doorknob disappeared from under his hand, the floor from under his feet. Instinctive, primal fear flooded his mind, and he let out a yelp – but no sound came out of his mouth, nor vibrated his vocal cords. In fact, he couldn't feel his mouth or face at all. Or any other part of his body. He was nothing more than a floating consciousness.

He tried to move, to stumble back, to lash out, but although his mind sent the signals, there was no familiar strain in his muscles to tell him that there was any response from his appendages at all.

Lukas wasn't sure how long he spent in that state – it could have been seconds, minutes, hours, days, years. But abruptly, feeling returned, and with it came pain. His side was pressed up against a hard surface (_the floor_, he realized quickly. _Or a floor – I don't know how long I was out, I could have been moved_). All parts of his body pressed up against it were sore in a way that he knew he'd have a bruise later. But more concerning, his arm was twisted at an uncomfortable angle, his wrist trapped under him and hurting enough to make him gritting his teeth to keep in a groan. Twisted, if not broken.

Unfortunately, he was still blinded and deaf. He rolled off of his injured wrist, using his good hand to push himself into sitting position and grope around, still trying to register what had happened. But when something gripped his shoulders, all calmness that had resulted from the relief of the return of his body disappeared, and he realized just how exposed he was. Blindly, he whipped his hand in what was hopefully the direction of his assailant, and a prickle on his finger tips told him that his powers were at work. He was released, so he hoped he'd at least scared his attacker, if not hit him.

He waved his good arm about, trying to cover every direction. A hard, cold feeling was creeping up his fingers – a comforting, familiar sensation.

And then, with a little pop, his ears were once again assaulted with sound, and with his next blink, light was shining into his eyes again. He let out startled squeal and grimaced as the sound reverberated uncomfortably inside his head, squinting as his eyes readjusted.

He was still in his house, he realized. The walls and furniture were splattered with white, crackling ice, creating a wintry scene. He didn't immediately catch sight of Matthias or the taller newcomer – "Berwald" – but Tino was just a little ways away from him, stumbling and looking stunned. Lukas mentally swore – there was no ice on his body. Looks like he'd missed his target.

"Berwald!" the Finnish man shouted in alarm. Then, without any warning, his legs buckled and he crumpled, his head hitting the floor with a worrisome clunk.

Lukas froze in surprise. What was-

And then there was nothing.

* * *

><p>Arthur Kirkland was proud to claim that he had been with the Collection practically since the beginning. In fact, the only people that had been there any longer were Elizabeta and Roderich, and since they were pretty much the cofounders, he could say that he was the first person to have ever been recruited into the organization.<p>

As he remembered it, things had been quite enjoyably peaceful in the beginning. The idea of collecting their targets for the greater good was gallant and entertaining, and he helped out as much as he could. People like Tino, Berwald, and Kiku, some of the earliest recruits, he had been quite fine with. Disconcerting as Berwald was, none of them raised any sort of fuss, and all were helpful and supportive.

Elizabeta and Roderich at that time were great as well, and still were. They worked together like the well fitted gears of a clock, easily pushing each other to new limits and making the Collection a success. True, neither of them were the most polite or understanding people, constantly bickering with each other and the people around them, but at the same time, they worked well as leaders, and served as the Collection's peacekeepers (although, generally peacekeeping consisted of Elizabeta knocking anyone being disruptive out cold with a frying pan).

However, times had changed, and they changed far too fast for Arthur's tastes. And suddenly he found himself surrounded by a host of characters who were far from desirable company.

Oh, how he missed the old days.

"_Mon cher_, I have arrived!" The voice was enough to send shivers down Arthur's spine. He didn't look up from the book in his lap, hoping that the person that he knew was coming towards him would just go away. Of course, he didn't.

"Did you miss me? Worry not, my dear, for I have returned!" Francis practically sang, enveloping Arthur in a large hug, forcing the British man's attention onto him and earning himself a glare.

"Get off me, you bloody frog," Arthur snarled, pushing the Frenchman off of him and brushing himself off, as if trying to rub off the lingering feel of Francis's touch. "I wish you'd choked to death on your beloved wine."

"I nearly did!" Francis wailed pitifully, moving closer to Arthur again, only to be shoved away. "Swiss wine is nothing compared to French wine…"

"I don't bloody care," Arthur informed him with a scowl. "Sod off."

"But I don't want to. Even if you didn't miss me, I missed you…" Francis caught his eyes on Arthur's own similarly green orbs, and the Briton suddenly found himself feeling dizzy and mesmerized. "I was hoping for a little bit warmer of a welcome…"

Arthur punched him in the face.

The Frenchman reeled back with a shriek. "What was that for!?"

"Don't try your fucking charm on me, wanker!" Arthur yelled at him.

Francis drew his hands away from his face, revealing a large red mark across his previously perfect face. Instead of seductive, his expression was now irritated. "Well, maybe if you were a bit friendlier, I wouldn't have to resort to such things to have a civil conversation with you!"

"A _civil conversation_? You didn't want to have a civil conversation, you just wanted to get in my pants, you pervert!"

"You're so assuming! Just because I live for _l'amour_ doesn't mean I want to have sex with everyone I see!"

"Could have fooled me, frog!"

"For God's sake, enough you two. I could hear you from the other room. You're giving me a headache."

Francis and Arthur paused their yelling match, turning from where they stood practically nose to nose to glare at Roderich. "He started it," Arthur accused. "First he assaulted me, then he tried to seduce me with his ability."

"_I_ started it?" Francis laughed incredulously. "I gave him a friendly hug! And when he wouldn't settle down, I might have slipped a little bit of seduction in, but hardly enough to make him do anything against his will!" He gestured angrily to his face. "And then he punched me!"

"Calm down," Roderich ordered, and Arthur, who was about to make an angry retort, snapped his mouth shut. "Francis, please refrain from using your abilities at all within the confines of the Collection unless directed by Elizabeta or myself."

The Frenchman sent him a sulking look, but nodded. It was doubtful that he'd obey for very long, though. After all, the order had been issued many times in the past.

"And Arthur, try not to resort to violence or insults. If Francis is bothering you, tell him to stop politely, and if he doesn't, just walk away."

"Like that'd work," Arthur muttered under his breath, but when Roderich raised an eyebrow at him, he quickly nodded his consent.

"Good. Then if we've come to an understanding…" The Austrian gestured to Arthur. "Arthur, can I speak with you?"

Arthur quickly composed himself. Roderich only asked someone to speak with him if he had something important to tell them, or if he had an assignment for them. Either way, it was of far more importance than petty grudges. "Understood."

"Francis. Leave us, will you?"

The Frenchman grumbled under his breath, but obeyed Roderich's orders, exiting the room.

"What is it?" Arthur asked curiously.

Roderich ran a hand through his hair. "I'm sure you've heard, but Francis just returned from a successful collection."

"I heard, but I didn't get all of the details. Who did he find?"

"Switzerland. Vash Zwingli. But as it happens, he has a sister, who we weren't aware was with him when Francis took him."

"Lichtenstein?" Arthur guessed, receiving an affirmative nod. "Well, that sounds rather fortunate – at least we have some idea of where she is."

"Yes. But according to Vash, Lili - that's her name - has most likely already moved on from where they stayed together, as he told her to. I doubt she could have moved far – it's only been a day or so."

"And you want me to go after her?"

"Exactly. You will be dispatched to Switzerland immediately."

"Do you know what her abilities are?"

"I haven't asked Vash about it yet. I'm not sure if he knows. However, if I get any information, I will certainly message you."

"Brilliant." Arthur nodded, already beginning to think about what he needed to bring. "I'll just be getting a few things, then."

"Be quick. Every minute wasted is another minute Lili has to escape." Roderich gave him a brisk nod, then exited the room.

Arthur's heart beat faster, excitement pooling in his stomach as he began to make his way towards his bedroom. It had been a while since he had been dispatched for a collection. Many of the missions he found himself sent on were for information, no doubt because he was more reliable for jobs that required critical thinking and such than someone like Francis. That said, the prospect of his task was still enough to bring a smile to his face as he strode purposely down the Collection's many hallways.

"Oof!"

He abruptly found himself on the floor, pain blossoming in his side where he had hit the ground. He barely had time to get out a groan before he was roughly grabbed by his shoulders, being brought face to face with the person who had barreled into him and was now seated on top of him.

"Where is my brother?" a loud voice demanded, icy blue eyes glaring into his from a pale face, framed by long, platinum blond hair.

"How the hell would I know?" Arthur cried, grimacing as the crazy girl on top of him shook his shoulders a bit. "Stop that! Aren't you supposed to be the one who knows where he is at all times?" Of course, he knew that wasn't completely true – her ability didn't work as well when she was already so close to her target.

She growled, releasing him and standing. Gloved hands brushed off the white apron that was tied over her long, dark blue dress, and then rose to straighten the white bow that perched almost cutely over her bangs. She shot Arthur one last look of contempt, then ran off, presumably in search of her brother.

Arthur sighed, rising to this feet and lightly feeling his no doubt bruised side. He almost felt bad for the guy, having a sister like that. Almost.

A little farther down the hall, he was stopped again, although this time mostly of his own accord as a shiver went down his spine. An unfortunately familiar feeling.

A head poked around a corner a little way down the hall. It possessed an almost childishly shaped face, although the tall, muscular body that followed after it showed that the person was hardly childlike. His fluffy hair was an almost grayish shade of blond, and his eyes on either side of his distinctly rounded nose were a perfect violet, staring nervously at Arthur and occasionally darting to look behind him. "Is she gone?" he asked in a heavy Russian accent.

Arthur felt the urge to flippantly point out that the answer was fairly obvious, but every survival instinct screamed at him that that wasn't a very good idea, so he instead settled for a weak "Yeah. She just ran off."

"Oh, good." The Russian sighed in relief, offering Arthur a smile that made him want to flee the country. "Are you going somewhere?" he asked curiously, studying how the British man was shifting nervously forward and backwards.

It took Arthur a panicked second of coming up with excuses to remember that he had a legitimate reason for why he had to get away from the terrifying man. "Well, actually, Ivan, I'm leaving on an assignment, so yes," he told him nervously.

The shift in his face was small, but Ivan suddenly seemed crestfallen, and in spite of everything, Arthur felt a pang of sympathy. Elizabeta and Roderich had never dared to let him leave the confines of the Collection, and probably never would. They sometimes carefully hinted that this was because his presence was the only thing that kept his sister under control, but everyone, including Ivan himself, knew it was more than that. His insane sister wasn't the only dangerous thing about him.

"Well… Goodbye, then," Arthur said awkwardly when Ivan didn't respond. The Russian blinked at his words, and returned a smile to his face, the expression immediately expelling all feelings of empathy from Arthur.

"Good luck," he told him cheerfully, then passed him, his nearness making another metaphorical icicle form in the British man's stomach. Arthur shuddered, beginning on his way again, walking at a notably faster pace.

Once he'd finally reached his room, packing was a simple task. He threw a couple extra shirts and pairs of pants into a backpack, along with several books to keep him occupied during the trip to Switzerland, and a variety of essential toiletries. His movements were quick and practiced, requiring little thinking – he had been doing this for years, and was long since used to the routine.

The pack strapped over his shoulders, he was starting towards where he knew that the Collection's private plane would be waiting when he encountered yet another delay in the form of his name being called.

"Arthur!" He turned to see a young brunette running up to him, doubling over upon reaching him, panting hard. "Wait… up…" he managed breathily, hands on his knees.

"What is it, Feliciano?" Arthur asked, shifting impatiently as he waited for the man to catch his breath. When he finally straightened, Arthur could view his whole form.

Feliciano had a fairly delicate figure, with little bulk of muscle or fat. His pale face was framed by a coppery brown bangs, parted in the middle, and his amber eyes were surrounded by a dark fringe of long eyelashes. His cheeks were flushed, a little bead of sweat running from his temple. A single, distinctive curl, sticking up from the left side of his head, bobbed up and down in time with his breathing.

The Italian boy was without a doubt one of the most well-loved individuals in the Collection, having stolen most everyone's heart as soon as he arrived, all laughs and cute gestures. Even Arthur was fond of him, although the brunette did nothing to help with the peace Arthur longed for. Unfortunately, Arthur's relationship with him had been unusually rocky, early mistakes leading to misunderstandings. To that day, he could still feel a twinge of awkwardness when they spoke, although it was easy to ignore.

"Arthur," Feliciano repeated in a less strained voice, meeting the British man's eyes. "You're going out on a collection mission, right? For Lichtenstein?"

Arthur raised an eyebrow at him. "Well, yes, but how did you know that?"

"Francis told me." Arthur almost wondered how Francis knew, but realized before he could make a fool of himself. Of course Francis knew. He had been the one to collect Vash, and had probably sat in while Roderich and Elizabeta were speaking with the Swiss man.

"He is correct then. If you don't mind, I'm in a bit of a hurry…?" Arthur bounced a little, impatient to get on with the special task. Not to mention that Roderich was very punctual, and wouldn't appreciate being kept waiting.

"Ah!" Feliciano grabbed Arthur's hand, and the British man flinched in surprise. "Will you bring me back something? Please please please? Francis forgot while he was in Switzerland, so…" The Italian stared into his face imploringly. "Pleeeeaaaase…?"

Sympathy welled in Arthur's chest, similar to what he had felt just minutes earlier when confronted with Ivan's disappointment at his assignment, although it was now stronger and wholehearted. Like Ivan, Elizabeta and Roderich had never assigned Feliciano a mission on the outside, and most likely wouldn't. For one, he wasn't self sufficient enough to go out on his own, and he was easily distractible. Most people found his overenthusiastic personality hard to put up with for long periods of time, and overall, he was far too valuable an asset to risk. The only foreseeable way that he could be released was if they found someone who could both tolerate him and keep him under control and safe, which they had had no luck in yet.

Feliciano, although understanding and not bitter in the slightest, obviously wasn't completely satisfied with the arrangement. He tried to make up for it by asking for souvenirs and stories from the other members of the Collection who had the opportunity to experience the world as he couldn't.

And in the face of this, Arthur couldn't help but nod and promise that of course he'd bring Feliciano something back.

The brunette squealed in excitement, squeezing Arthur's hand tighter and shaking it a bit, then releasing it. "Thank you, thank you, Arthur!" he sang in his clear, high pitched voice, his contagious smile spread wide across his face. "Come home soon then!" he called as he dashed away, a new spring in his step.

Arthur stared after the Italian, then shook his head. He could never understand that boy.

Roderich didn't look pleased when Arthur finally stepped out onto the Collection's small airfield. The dark haired Austrian didn't say anything, but his haughty gaze seemed even more disapproving than usual. He gestured to the small private plane, taxiing a little ways away from where stood.

Arthur nodded, striding quickly to the small staircase leading up to the door. Before boarding, he turned back to Roderich. "Anything else I should know?" he called, having to shout to be heard over the thrum of the engines.

Roderich shook he head, pointing to the plane, then waving a small black object he retrieved from his pocket – his phone. He'd message him if he found any other information.

As soon as Arthur sat down in the comfy, sofa-like seat and buckled himself in, the plane doors slid closed, and within minutes, the familiar sensation of being pressed back against his seat told him the plane was in motion. He slid open the shutter on the window besides him, watching as the airfield rushed by.

It occurred to him that he wasn't sure what he wished for – the mission to go quickly and smoothly, or for its quiet and excitement to last forever.

* * *

><p>Rain pounded the ground around Kiku's feet, beating a dreary tune that the Japanese man felt aptly matched his current mood. Puddles pooled between tufts of well tended, emerald green grass, although their vibrancy was obscured by the dull shadow cast by the thick clouds above. Water dripped of the rim of Kiku's plain, off white umbrella, landing in a splatter on the large white stone in front of him.<p>

The area around him was empty besides a few stragglers who had not immediately vacated when the rain began to fall. Two remaining people, a small boy and his mother, were making their way towards a small building for refuge. The boy tugged against the woman holding his hand, looking back at Kiku with curiosity.

"Why isn't he leaving?" he whined in his childish voice. "He's gonna get wet in all the rain!"

"Shh," his mother hushed, pulling the boy along. "Be quiet. He's probably mourning a loved one – we must not bother him."

And indeed, that was what Kiku looked like, standing over a pure white gravestone with golden lettering set into its front. His straight black bangs hung into his eyes, obscuring his downcast brown eyes from view. His fairly short figure was slumped, his fingers clutching loosely at the handle of his umbrella.

But as it turned out, this wasn't the case. Although Kiku did take a moment to silently offer his respects to the person buried deep under the grave marker and condolences to the absent family members, he almost no connection to the stranger entombed there. They had never met, and Kiku had never spoken with anyone who had known the deceased personally.

Wordlessly, the Japanese man pulled a small flower from his pocket, something that he had absently picked up earlier, and let it fall to the ground in front of the stone. It was immediately sucked into a puddle, the muddy water staining the delicate white petals.

Then Kiku turned, heading towards the building that the boy and his mother had disappeared into minutes early, closing and shaking out his umbrella when he reached the front step. As he stepped inside, letting the door swing shut behind him, he didn't look back. He had already moved on.

_I don't want to make this trip a complete waste. I could go see if I could find him instead…?_

_Matthew Williams_

_July 1st, 1994 to October 16th, 2012_

_Beloved brother and son_

_May he never again be forgotten._

* * *

><p><strong>Can I take this chance to sincerely thank the two people who commented on this? Receiving and reading your reviews made my day.<br>**

**And to everyone who bothered to follow this story, thank you all! I hope I manage to keep you entertained for the many chapters to come.**

**And thank you to _everyone_ who bothered to read this. You all make me so happy, you have no idea.**

**Anyways, I forgot to mention this last chapter - I live in the USA. I have always lived here, in exactly the same area. My experience with other countries has been two brief visits to Canada, one being when I was too young to remember clearly, and the other taking place so near the border I'd bet half the people there were just vacationers from the US such as myself. So... I have ridiculously little experience with the culture of other countries. And this story is supposed to take place in a _whole_ lot of different places around the world - I'm trying to stick with somewhat safe locations and topics, but in the end, I have no clue how any of their cultures work, and they'll probably all look like my experience in the US. So I apologize for this, and if any of you have some recommendations for how I could make things more accurate, those would be very welcome.  
><strong>

**~Whisperwing~**


	4. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia**

* * *

><p><em>"So, Vash. I'm sure you have a lot of questions, like the whole name thing, how we knew where to find you, how Roderich guessed you had a sister."<em>

_"…"_

_"Well, there's this Japanese comic, called Hetalia. In it, all the countries of the world interact and go through events and history, mostly World War two and such, and then… Ah, I'm not explaining this very well."_

_"No."_

_"So… In Hetalia, each country has a human form. Like, this human personifies the whole of this country. It shows each of these countries, able to speak and feel emotions and pain and stuff, going through certain events in history, and just interacting with each other. It's meant to be just kinda pointless and funny, just a comedy, so it's not completely accurate on all accounts."_

_"Hm."_

_"When I read it, I thought it was the coolest thing ever! Despite its weird, pointless basis, it's got a huge fanbase, which I'm proud to call myself a part of."_

_"Do you have a point?"_

_"Well, yeah. Um… I guess the most important thing about Hetalia, in this situation, is its characters. One for each country that takes part. Or in rare cases, there's two for a country, but that doesn't really matter. Each has a unique personality and appearance that reflects the stereotypes about the country they represent. And what I discovered after reading Hetalia is that these characters are actually real."_

_"Don't make me laugh."_

_"It's true. I know it's really hard to believe, but it's really true."_

_"What, that our countries have some sort of human personification walking around?"_

_"Erm… Well, no. I mean, in this world, the characters aren't actually countries like they are in Hetalia. They're just people, who have the same personality and physical appearance, along with having been born in the country they represented in Hetalia."_

_"I have no interest in being involved in your delusions."_

_"If you stick around here, you'll see it's true! If I wasn't sure at first, I definitely am now."_

_"What does this have to do with anything?"_

_"It has everything to do with everything. You, me, your sister, Roderich – that's what we _are_. We're characters from Hetalia! I represent the country of Hungary, while your country is Switzerland. Roderich guessed that you had a sister because he knew of Switzerland's close, sibling bond with the country of Lichtenstein, and could guess her name using human names given by Hetalia's author and fans of the series."_

_"What? That's ridiculous."_

_"No, it makes sense, doesn't it? And every one of us who is a character from Hetalia possesses an abnormal, superhuman ability. Like my ability to always assume correctly."_

_"So you've been going around the world capturing people that look like the people from these books?"_

_"Well… yeah. Pretty much."_

_"Let's say I believe everything you've told me. Why are you doing this?"_

_"Because… Ah. Well. I guess that's not so easy to answer…"_

* * *

><p>Kiku stepped into the airport, feeling the familiar unsteadiness of his legs as he grew used to unmoving ground again. Plane rides always left him feeling a little dizzy. But this one had been relatively pleasant – no crying children or annoyingly talkative neighbors. Kiku slept most of the way, and read the rest.<p>

One step outside the doors of the airport (he traveled light – all he had was what he brought on the plane as carryon, so he had no luggage to pick up) told him that he was officially in the middle of nowhere. The airport sprawled behind him, and ahead, roads lay in a tangle, constantly being traced by multicolored cars. But other than that, there was nothing. No city, no houses, no stores – just yellowish grass waving in the spring breeze.

Kiku sighed. _A taxi, then._

Luckily, there was no shortage of available taxis at the airport. When one person hailed one, another came to take its place, knowing that it would be needed soon enough. Less than five minutes after realizing he would require a taxi, Kiku found himself climbing into one, buckling himself into the seat. It smelled new and fresh – a huge difference from the last time Kiku had ridden in a taxi in America. He tried not to remember _that_ particular event too much.

The man at the wheel looked to be in his sixties, with a balding head and wrinkles forming around his eyes. His face didn't exactly have the "jolly old man" look to it, but he didn't look nasty or anything. Then, Kiku didn't judge books by their cover.

"Where to, young man?" the driver asked, adjusting his rearview mirror.

"Oh, just a second." Kiku dug in his pocket, taking out a slightly crumpled piece of paper. It had a picture of a manga style man with a broad grin and a couple strands of gravity defying hair sticking up in a small cowlick. He flipped the paper over, revealing an address scrawled on the back. He quickly read it aloud, looking up expectantly.

The driver was staring at him with narrowed eyes in the rearview mirror. "Now why would you want to go there?" he asked carefully.

Kiku looked surprised, giving a sheepish but hopefully reassuring smile, easily slipping into his default excuse. "I'm going to see a friend. We haven't seen each other in a while, since I live in another state, but…"

"Are you sure you know what kind of person your friend is?" The driver's tone was serious.

Kiku stared curiously. "Why would you say that?"

"The people who live in that place are bad news," the man said heavily. "Dropouts, thugs, druggies, gang members – that's where they all end up. You go in there, you're lucky to come back not shot through the heart, never mind with all of your possessions and money."

"Hm." Kiku pursed his lips. Was this really the kind of place Alfred lived in? Had they gotten the addresses wrong? Then again, he was supposed to be rather rambunctious, and who knew what his past was like. "Thank you for the warning, sir. But I believe I'll be alright."

"It's your life," the driver muttered. "I'm only going to drop you off at the top of the neighborhood, if you don't mind. The last guy who went in there got his window shattered and a huge dent in his roof."

"That's fine," Kiku agreed. He hoped the taxi driver was exaggerating.

* * *

><p>Click.<p>

_"…she is described as being rather high-tech, with a humble and mature personality and a level head, though she will clearly state her views."_

Click.

"_A gift for everything you've done for me! This is a token of my feelings!" _

Click.

_Young, blond, with a strong admiration for her brother… Can sew pajamas. No specific notable skill sets, overall._

Roderich closed the tab, running a hand through his hair. The information he could find on Lili's character gave away few clues as to what her ability could be. Her only defining feature in Hetalia seemed to be that she was near obsessed with her brother, not that the overprotective sibling minded.

_She is a rather adorable character. Maybe she can cute a person to death. _

The Austrian groaned as the idiotic thought crossed his mind. Even so, he considered the idea: although "cuting" someone to death seemed unviable, the idea of her being incredibly, unnaturally lovable couldn't be completely ruled out. However, he noted, they had multiple people with similar powers of charm. For example, Francis, who could make anyone feeling physically attracted to him at will. It was unlikely that she would possess such an apparently common power.

So it was back to the drawing board. Roderich shut the laptop's lid, pushing his chair back from his desk and standing to stretch. The job of guessing at a person's ability always seemed to fall to him. It was a long, tedious, thankless job, but Elizabeta insisted that it was necessary, and he agreed with her reasoning. They were attempting to track people with potentially dangerous powers, or possibly some method of avoiding capture. It was good to have some sort of estimate of what they were up against.

Some powers could be assumed by studying the personality of a person's Hetalia counterpart, and finding a major detail about them that could be extended into an ability. Francis's parallel, the personification of the country France, was flirty, charming, and rather perverted. Thus, his ability to attract and seduce anyone he chose came as no surprise. Arthur also possessed hints to his power in his Hetalia character, England.

Vash had fallen into this category, it seemed. In Hetalia, Switzerland was a standoffish individual with a liking for guns. Vash, as his counterpart, was unable to miss his target when shooting.

Other people's abilities could be found or confirmed through a witness's experience. For better or for worse, Ivan's power was apparent as soon as they found him, since both his location and what he had done were splashed across internet headlines. Of course, although it made Roderich's job easier, such occasions left the Collection with a mess to clean up, usually. Luckily, such noticeable powers were rare.

Unfortunately, as far as Roderich could tell, Lili's power could not be easily assumed through either method. Her character Liechtenstein was a minor character, even if she was a fairly well known and loved one, with few obvious traits. On top of that, she and Vash had done a great job keeping off the map – there had been barely any information on their whereabouts to work with, much less anything they could do.

It would not be uncommon at all if her ability turned out to be one with no apparent connection to Liechtenstein. Elizabeta, for example, and her power of perfect assumption was not something that could be easily guessed. Her corresponding character, Hungary, could have been perhaps somewhat intuitive, but if so, it was far from obvious. Kiku and Tino's abilities also had no direct ties to their characters.

Roderich and Elizabeta had hoped to coax the answer out of Vash. But although he eventually revealed the specifics of his own ability, he had refused to disclose Lili's, even when they reasoned with him that it could mean they could find and rescue her faster. It could have been that he didn't know, but to Roderich, that seemed unlikely. It seemed more probable that it was just his distrust of them.

The Austrian man rubbed his temples, trying to relieve his headache. His eyes darted over to a large piano in the corner of the room, lingering longingly on its well polished wood and its shiny black and white keys. He wished he could play a frustrated tune, but Elizabeta had long since forbid such a method of stress relief. She said that if he was stressed, then she was probably just as stressed in the room next to his, and unlike him, his aggravated playing did nothing to help her anxiety.

Just as he was thinking about her, her voice rang through the thin wall between their offices. "Roderich!"

He sighed. He had known Elizabeta for long enough to tell the difference between her calls. There was the playful tone of "I want attention", the urgent tone of "this is something important", or low, lazy call that said "I want you to do something that is neither important nor productive in any way".

This particular occasion seemed to have the pitch of the most common request. That being, of course, the latter tone.

He didn't bother to move until she called a second time, a little louder. Then he sighed again, stepping to the door that adjoined their two rooms and opening it, glancing inside. "What is it?"

Elizabeta was slumped forward in her cushioned chair, her arms lying crossed on her desk and her chin resting on her forearms. Her bushy, light brown hair was splayed wildly across her back and the surface of the desk, a couple strands stretching in front of her mouth, quivering as she breathed. Her eyes flicked to him as he entered, but she made no other motion towards him.

Roderich leaned in the doorway, feeling his headache worsen. "Elizabeta. I got things to be doing right now."

"I want a back massage," Elizabeta groaned abruptly, shifting a little and closing her eyes. "I feel so _tense_…"

"We all feel tense," Roderich pointed out.

"Yeah, but I'm the tense-ist. Roderich, gimme a back massage."

"No," Roderich said firmly, and she moaned in disappointment. "I told you, Elizabeta, I have things I need to do."

"Can't you spare just a moment?" she whined.

Roderich gave her a reprimanding look, and she relented with a grumble.

After a moment of silence, she spoke again. "Tino and Berwald didn't check in yesterday like they were supposed to."

_Ah, so that's why she's stressed._ "Tino can be rather ditzy, and I have no idea what goes through Berwald's mind. It wouldn't be overly surprising if they forgot."

"You don't understand," Elizabeta mumbled. "Yesterday was supposed to be their collection."

Roderich pursed his lips, suddenly understanding why Elizabeta was so agitated. Although there were periodic check in dates for every mission, the most important one was on the date the person had estimated they'd come in contact with their target. Since said target could be unexpectedly dangerous, the calls were essential to making sure the job had been completed safely, or if there was some kind of complication.

The people they sent out were well aware of how important these calls were. Even if Roderich didn't have much faith in the person to remember the general check ins, missing this call was worrisome.

"Did you try calling them?" he asked.

"Of course." Elizabeta looked a little offended. "They didn't pick up, though." That wasn't excessively astonishing either. As much as Elizabeta and Roderich would like it not to be the case, their calls were for whatever reason rarely picked up. They guessed it was a combination of laziness, leaving their phones in inaccessible places, and not having cellular service. The lack of service usually didn't hinder calls in the other direction, since there were always payphones or something.

Because of this, Elizabeta and Roderich usually opted for just messaging the person so they could view it whenever. But in times like this, waiting for them to get around to messaging back might not be an option.

They fell quiet again, each mulling over the problem. "Well," Roderich said finally, "I think that we should wait just a little longer, in case they just missed it for some reason."

"But what if-"

"Kiku said that he should be completing his collection today, right? We'll wait until he returns, and if they haven't gotten in contact by then, we'll send him over. Alright?"

Elizabeta looked unsatisfied, but she huffed, "Fine. Alright."

* * *

><p>First impressions of the location were not good, but not exactly bad, either.<p>

Kiku had been dropped off in a rather quiet place. Or more like eerily silent. There was no one in the streets, in the yards, coming and going from the houses. No cars were parked in the driveways, and no items decorated the porches. A couple lights could be seen in the windows, but that was the only thing that showed evidence that _anyone_ lived here.

The Japanese man rubbed his forehead, frowning. He had the sudden premonition that this was going to be a lot more difficult than he'd hoped.

As the day turned to night, the sun sinking behind the surrounding buildings, he walked down the streets, which slowly faded from abandoned to occupied. It started with just a few eyes staring distrustfully from the shadows, then small groups plodding down the roads, then raucous, obviously intoxicated crowds. Kiku carefully avoided everyone, trying not to meet anyone's eye. His posture was straight and purposeful, neither cowering nor stiff. He was neither a threat nor a potential victim.

He withdrew the picture and address from his pocket, staring at the house number and street name, then glancing around. Many house numbers were obscured by one thing or another, and most signs were painted over with a layer of graffiti. Frustration welled within the Japanese man – of course, things just had to be as hard as possible for him, didn't they?

In his moment of distraction, someone approached him, who he only noticed when the person snatched the paper out of his hands. A potentially fatal mistake, he realized as his guard immediately went up. But luckily the hoodlum in front of him didn't seem as though he meant immediate harm.

"What's this?" he sneered, his breath stinking of alcohol and smoke. "You can't find addresses here, pal."

_So I've found,_ Kiku thought, but his face didn't change.

"Who the hell are you looking for? No one ever seems to come here from the outside…" The drunk casually flipped the paper over, glancing at the back side – and froze, his face paling. "Hey," he muttered, his voice hoarse. "Maybe I'm just drunk off my ass, but this looks an awful lot like…" He shot an urgent look at Kiku. "Who is it you're here for?"

"Alfred F. Jones," the Japanese man told him in a cautious, even voice.

The man looked even more distraught. "And what business do you have with him?"

Kiku felt a jolt of nervousness, deciding to stick with his usual response. "He's a friend – I'm here to visit."

That turned out to be the wrong answer.

The hoodlum's hand moved towards his side, and Kiku immediately sprung away – just in time too, because seconds later, a well worn handgun was in the man's hand and he'd fired off a shot into the space where Kiku had been. The bullet hit a wall a little ways away with a sharp _crack_, and a nearby group of drunken delinquents booed loudly, but began to move away in well practiced reaction, off to search for a slightly safer street to haunt.

Kiku's hand twitched towards his own side, where he usually kept his trusty katana. However, he realized with disappointment, airports usually did not take well to someone bringing full sized, well sharpened swords through security, so he'd elected not to bring it. He was hardly defenseless – he had mastered a variety of martial arts. But he still would have preferred his sword.

The man rounded on him again, holding the gun in front of him with shaking hands, his eyes wide with fear. "Any friend of that son of a bitch," he yelled hysterically, "deserves to go to hell!" He fired again, but his aim was off, and he missed by quite a bit.

Kiku dropped into a fighting stance, his feet spread apart and his hands slightly raised. He stared down his opponent – the man seemed beyond any reason now.

"Hey, hey, what's going on here?" a new voice sounded, the tone bright and cocky, not quite fitting the atmosphere. The hoodlum stiffened, a startled yelp ripping from his mouth as he spun to shoot at the newcomer. But before his finger could pull the trigger, a fist slammed into his head, and he went down.

Kiku watched the scene in apprehension, tensing as he watched his previous attacker collapse. Behind him, a new man stepped out of the shadows, chuckling.

He was tall, far taller than Kiku, and much bulkier as well. His tight fitting shirt showed off the hard muscles of his chest and stomach, and his arms, revealed by his short sleeves, were equally well built, biceps flexing beneath pale skin. But despite his manly body, his face was nearly childish: above a clean shaven chin was a grinning mouth, full of perfect white teeth. Higher on his face were tale cerulean eyes, sparkling with mischief and enjoyment. The top of his head was covered by wheat blonde hair, mostly straight except for a single tuft which stuck up comically from the rest.

Kiku nearly gasped in recognition. It was him, without a doubt: this man's face almost perfectly matched the image on the small paper, which the hoodlum had allowed to fall to the ground. It was promptly trampled by the approaching person, but Kiku didn't care about it anymore.

"Sorry about that," the man laughed, nudging Kiku's assaulter's head with the tip of his black combat boot. "People around here really don't have any manners," he mused, then turned his smile on Kiku, striding up to him. The Japanese man almost flinched away, but if the approaching male had noticed the wince, he didn't show it. Instead, he thrust his hand into Kiku's face, palm up. "Yo! My name's Alfred F. Jones. You can just call me the Hero if you like," he added boldly.

Kiku hesitantly grasped the proffered hand, shaking it firmly and allowing himself to ease up a bit. If he understood Alfred's personality well enough, he wouldn't just randomly attack him. "Honda Kiku," he introduced himself.

"Honda? That's a cool name. Like…" Alfred paused thoughtfully. "A car."

"Oh, no," Kiku corrected quickly. "Call me Kiku."

"Huh? Why? You don't like your first name? I thought it was cool! Being a car and all."

"No, it's not that," the Japanese man clarified embarrassedly. "I'm sorry, in Japan we have our surnames before our given names. I knew that it wasn't the same in America, but I wasn't thinking…"

Afred stared at him for a moment, processing, then burst into raucous laughter. "That's fine, then! So, Kiku," he began, "what-"

He was cut off a by loud growl, issuing from the American's stomach. There was an awkward second of silence, but it was quickly broken by more laughter from Alfred.

"That's right!" he exclaimed loudly. "I was just going to eat dinner. Wanna join me, Kiku?"

Kiku almost politely declined – he wouldn't usually accept such an offer from someone he'd only just met. But before he could reject the proposal, he realized that this was, in fact, the very person he was looking for, and that dinner was a perfect opportunity to speak with him.

So Kiku replied, "Thank you, I would very much enjoy that." The American grinned enthusiastically at the response.

"Well, then, what're we waiting for?"

* * *

><p>The forest was a big, scary place.<p>

Lili had never really noticed before. But then, before, she was with her big brother, and nothing really seemed so scary with him around.

Now as she woke up sitting on a tree branch, the forest was no longer the excitement or the safety that it had been with him. The multitude of waving leaves seemed more like the bars of her cage, a cage that she dare not break free of.

When Vash hadn't returned from his supply run three days ago, Lili had done what he had always told her to do: she dutifully packed up all of their few belongings and ran, as far from the nearby town as she could. Since then, she'd been sleeping in trees by night and moving by day. She had no clue where she was going – Vash had never told her to find another town, or a person, or anything. How could he? They had no family or friends outside of each other. They could only trust themselves.

So Lili was on her own.

She had come to the realization, at some point, that her brother probably wasn't going to just appear somewhere, and everything would go back to normal. It'd be near impossible for him to find her in this vast forest, even if he was capable of going out looking for her. And with that understanding had came determination.

The girl shimmied down the trunk of the tree, dead leaves crackling under her feet as she reached the ground. Her fingers reached behind her back, checking that all of the pockets of her backpack were shut, then sliding reassuringly down the smooth barrel of the gun strapped to the bag. That and the knife in her boot was her only protection if someone came for her. Although she couldn't shoot as well as Vash, he trained her well, and she hoped she'd be able to put up a bit of a fight.

As she began her trek again, she did not think about the hopelessness of her situation. She did not worry for her lost brother, or for herself. Her mind was set only on her resolve – she would be just as good at surviving as her brother ever was. She would live, and if Vash was to be found, then she would find him, no matter what.

An unnatural rustling from above was enough to bring her steady pace to a halt. Her hand grabbed for her gun, and she cast her eyes upwards, squinting against the sunlight shining through the trees. Nothing seemed out of place, but it was easy to hide in the branches. She would know.

She didn't have to wait long for the source of the sound show itself. There was a squeak accompanied by a _crack_, and someone tumbled out of the leaves above, screaming all the way. Lili quickly backed up, wincing as the figure hit the ground with a particularly loud shriek.

"Ow! _Bliksems!_" it – or rather she – yelled, and the body flailed a little bit before going still, breathing hard. "Damn," she groaned. "I never thought _I_ could die from falling…"

Lili pulled her gun from its straps, leveling it on the woman in front of her and flicking the safety off.

The woman lay still for a couple second, then with a pained "_Hup_" she pushed herself into sitting position, carefully running her hands over herself. She winced when her fingers slid over a few parts, but looked satisfied when she had finished her check. She whistled, looking upwards to where she had fallen from. "Wow, I came down from all the way up there and am only sorta banged up! I'm a lucky one, I guess," she laughed to herself.

Lili must have made a sound, because suddenly the woman stiffened, and whipped her head around. "Woah!" she gasped, defensively putting her hands up. "Ah, no need for the gun…"

"What do you want?" Lili inquired, making sure her voice was hard and stern, like her brother's. She kept her gun aimed at the woman's forehead.

"Nothing bad, I swear!" the woman insisted nervously. "I was just sleeping up in that tree, and then I woke up when you came along, and I was kinda curious, so I got on a different branch to get a better look at you, but it was a bad branch, so…" Her rambling explanation came to a halt, and she laughed sheepishly. "Yeah, I just… fell?"

Lili looked the woman over. She didn't seem like she was lying: her forest green eyes were wide and honest, and her smile, although nervous, seemed genuine. _What would brother do?_ the young girl wondered briefly. It wasn't that hard to imagine. Vash could never trust anyone. He would keep the gun trained on the woman until she was out of sight, then flee in another direction, always checking to make sure she wasn't following.

But Lili wasn't Vash, and when she looked at the woman, she decided to trust her. So she lowered the gun, although she left the safety off.

The woman sighed in relief. "Ah, I'm really sorry for startling you…" She paused, a thoughtful look coming across her face. "Why's a young girl like you out in the woods all on your own? 'Specially with a dangerous weapon like that." She nodded to the gun.

Lili tensed. Even if she trusted the woman enough to lower her weapon, there was no way she could tell anyone about _that_.

"Woah, hey, calm down!" the woman soothed, noticing the change. She waited until Lili had relaxed a bit before asking, "Are there bad people after you?"

Lili bit her lip, thinking for a second, then nodded. "They took my brother…"

"Oh, you poor thing! And you've just been running since then?"

She nodded again.

The woman smiled kindly. "What's your name?"

"Lili," the girl replied unthinkingly, then scolded herself. She shouldn't give away information so easily.

"Lili," the woman repeated. "Well, Lili, how about I help you escape?"

"Escape?"

"Yeah. I have a method of transportation that's a lot faster than just walking through the woods. You could come with me to Berlin – that's where I'm headed to. In fact, I'm meeting someone there that could probably help you find your brother."

"Really?" Lili gasped, astounded by her luck. Then she frowned doubtfully. "Berlin? That's in Germany. Isn't it pretty far…"

"Don't worry. I can make the trip in under a week." The woman's expression was mischievous. "Wanna see how?"

Lili nodded, intrigued.

"Alright. It'll just be our secret, right?" The woman stood, brushing herself off, and closed her eyes.

And out of her back grew two long, thickly feathered wings.

* * *

><p>Lovino groaned, pulling his sheets up over his head to block the light, rolling over to hide his head in his pillow. His mind was still flooded with sleep, and he could think of nothing more than retreating back into the realm of slumber. <em>If this damn sunlight would stop shining in my eyes…<em> he thought blearily.

Inevitably, his mind began to clear – and with that came the remembrance that he didn't actually have a bed anymore. And the pillow he slept on smelled terribly unfamiliar (not _bad_ but different).

He sat bolt upright in bed, yanking his covers down in panic. _Shit! Where the hell am I?_

The room he found himself in was small, the walls a plain, boring white. The floor around the bed was cluttered in a homey sort of way, objects stacked and pushed against walls so that they wouldn't be stepped on. There was a window and three doors, two identical, one skinnier – Lovino guessed that the skinny one was a closet.

He rubbed at his temples, swearing under his breath. _What did I do last night? Fuck, I don't even remember…_ Waking up in an unfamiliar bedroom was naturally suspicious – who knows what could have happened.

A crash from outside the room and a startled yelp, distinctly human, made Lovino jump, clutching the sheets back to himself as though he was planning on hiding under them. He watched the door for a full minute, only allowing himself to move once no more sounds reached his ears and no one burst into the room. He slid carefully out of bed, noting that he was still in his street clothes – not that he had any other outfits. But it would have been beyond concerning if he'd woken up in someone _else's _clothing. Although he did notice that his shoes had been removed – luckily, he found them laid out at the end of the bed.

A door selected at random opened without a sound as he turned the handle and pushed. He peeked carefully through the doorway, and froze at the sight that met his eyes.

Beyond the door was what seemed like a kitchen and living room combination, equipped with counters, cupboards, a stove, a table, a sofa, a television, and a bookcase, among other things. Although the relatively small space seemed rather cluttered, it wasn't as though it was a troublesome mess – in fact, the only thing that seemed like it was out of place was the bookshelf, which was pushed away from the wall behind it at a large angle, leaving a large space.

But what made Lovino stiffen in surprise and fear was that there was man standing in front of the stove, humming quietly under his breath, concentrating on a large, steaming black pan.

The man was taller than Lovino, and well muscled, with smooth skin colored by an attractive Spanish tan. His short, curly hair was a shade like milk chocolate, wild bangs falling into deep jade eyes. A smile curled upon his elegant lips, and he bounced a little as he cooked, as if dancing along to a song only he could here.

_He looks disturbingly happy_, Lovino noted with disgust.

He contemplated what course of action he could take. The man obviously hadn't noticed him yet. He could probably close the door and sneak back into the bedroom. Hopefully the window opened, and he could get out through there. _I'm a fucking genius,_ he thought smugly.

Then his stomach gave a loud growl. He tensed, watching the man carefully, but the idiot just kept humming and dancing and cooking. Lovino breathed a sigh of relief, taking a second to scold his traitorous stomach before beginning his silent retreat back through the door. But just before he could completely disappear back into the bedroom, something caught his eye.

Dammit. Tomatoes.

Four of the plump, perfectly red beauties were set tantalizing in the middle of the kitchen table. Just the sight of them was enough to make Lovino's mouth water. _When was the last time I had an honest to goodness tomato?_ he wondered wistfully to himself. If he could just grab one of those tomatoes, he could take care of his hunger and his craving all at once… _Tomatoes are so much better than shitty stolen bread_…

Realizing where his mind was going, he shook himself, growling quietly. He didn't have time for tomatoes! He had to escape!

He could almost feel the tomatoes calling him. Eat me Lovino! We're ripe and tasty and delicious! You know you want it…

Well, he thought, glancing back towards the man as his resolve crumbled, that bastard looks like an oblivious idiot. He probably won't notice if I'm really quiet. I'll just sneak over there and grab one… Yeah, that'll work…

Pushing the door open a little wider, Lovino began to creep across the room, his eyes darting nervously between the tomatoes and the man. His footfalls were silent against the hard wood floor, and he was practically holding his breath. The man hummed on, ignorant as predicted.

As it turned out, there was one other thing out of place in the room besides the angled bookshelf, which was a rather large, hardcovered book lying on the floor. It was hardly anything less than obvious – but in Lovino's focus on the man and the tomatoes, he didn't notice it until his foot collided with it. He stumbled, cursed, glared, and then froze, glancing up.

The man was staring at him in surprise.

"Shit," Lovino said casually.

* * *

><p><strong>Another chapter come and gone! I'm not completely sure how much I like how I did this one... but eh. <strong>

**Thank you to everyone who bothered to read this! I feel like this story was probably not such a great fanfiction to start out with - it doesn't really focus on romance and a specific pairing, which is what a lot of people look for when it comes to fanfiction, nor does it focus on a small set of characters. I sorta enjoy stories like this, but it's always very difficult to find good ones, so I don't usually go looking. I'll leave it up to you guys whether this is one of the fabled "good ones"...**

**Slightly because of the fact that it will probably be more successful, and mostly because I really wanna write this story, I'm hoping to start on a Spamano FanFic. So, um... look forward to it, I guess? **

**~Whisperwing~**


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